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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164615">Marshmallow Pie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstein_1984/pseuds/Goldstein_1984'>Goldstein_1984</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, Sweet, starrison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstein_1984/pseuds/Goldstein_1984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George doesn't like Ringo's sweet nicknames.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison/Ringo Starr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Marshmallow Pie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been eating lots of sweets lately making Christmas gifts (that's not related, but it kinda inspired me), and so here it is : little fluffy Starrison where Ringo's cute and clumsy and George's just really tired.<br/>Hope you enjoy! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The evening was coming to an end when George finally let himself fall on the bed in the hotel room he shared with Ringo. His limbs seemed cumbersome and, trying to lift one eyelid to look at the clock, he sighed from exhaustion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, love”, Ringo whispered after having closed the door behind him. “You’re sleeping already?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Just tired”, George couldn’t help but whimper, and he stifled a yawn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mind if we watch the telly, sweetie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George closed his eyes tighter. He didn’t mind watching TV - what he did mind though was the nicknames Ringo was constantly rigging him up with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo and he had almost been </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> for two months now. They hadn’t talked about it much, only growing more and more accustomed </span>
  <span>to the fact that they quite enjoyed snogging or cuddling each other. In the darkness and secrecy of the hotel room they often shared, they could now spend hours kissing and having sex without feeling overwhelmed by guilt, shame or deep questionable thoughts. That felt wonderful, and George certainly didn’t mind it. But then, two or three weeks earlier, Ringo had begun to completely stop using his name whenever they were in private. That felt strange. It felt awkward. It felt clumsy. And, most of all, it sounded terribly cheesy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo crawled on the bed to his side and rested his hand on the top of his. George didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled slightly to show him he had acknowledged him. Ringo turned on the TV, but shut it out after a couple of minutes, sinking deeper into the mattress next to George. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing good”, he muttered. “You’re much more interesting than that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Normally, George would’ve laughed, made a sarcastic comment, or at least said “Thanks” if he felt somewhat soft. But at this moment, he was so exhausted from the day, so far already into his dizziness that he couldn’t manage anything other than lazily squeezing Ringo’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...handsome pumpkin”, Ringo then added quickly, looking at George. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That brought away some of George’s tiredness and replaced it with enough bad energy to make his eyes fling open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what he should think of that. George had never been bothered by girls calling him by all the sweetest names in the world, although he would eventually get used to it and wouldn’t even notice them. But the girls called him “darling”, “honey”, or “baby”; Ringo was, on the other hand, being rather creative. George knew he at least should have found it funny, if he didn’t find it cute or attractive - he did find it funny at first; but now, it almost felt like a mockery, like a gesture of condescendance. He knew Ringo, of all men, would never be the kind to talk down to someone, especially not to him, despite their age gap. However, George had spent too much time with people who treated him like he were decades - </span>
  <em>
    <span>centuries</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even - behind them. He longed to be recognized as an equal by too many men around him to be able to appreciate so many nicknames that could have suited a pet, or a baby. Even if they were sweet, and cute, and they came from a man he trusted more than himself. Because they were also </span>
  <em>
    <span>horribly</span>
  </em>
  <span> tacky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“George?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George didn’t turn to Ringo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay, doll? Uh, I… Everything’s alright, marshmallow pie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was he doing that on purpose?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he meant to be kind and gentle, poor Ringo had completely failed, because George grew even more annoyed by that. “Love” was rather pleasing, though a tad bit over the line. “Sweetie” sounded cute. But “marshmallow pie”? It gave him a toothache for sure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he was alright. Everything was fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You forgot to answer”, Ringo said with a smile, backing off slightly to give George some space. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t you use my name just once? Or twice, since you used it - finally - once?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo frowned and moved an inch further. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, George, but what do you…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired. I’m exhausted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… can see that. We all are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Well yeah, of course.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George straightened up and leaned on the wall, not facing Ringo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just tired of all this. I don’t mind kissing you. Or fucking you. Or being fucked by you. Hell, I even like that, and you know it. I’m okay with holding hands - and you give the best hugs. But we’re pals, Ritchie. We’re friends before all. You know that, too. We don’t have to live a public life and live another life when we’re alone. I mean… of course we do have to do that. But we can still be friends in those times. Even if we’re attracted to each other. We don’t have to play the babysitter or… whatever thing we’re doing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo was staring at George, inscrutable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not quite sure I understand. You wanna stop… what we’re doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” George practically shouted, cursing himself under his breath. “No, I just… hate the way you call me. I don’t like nicknames. That’s all. Well, I don’t like… those.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo’s jaw dropped. George didn’t dare look at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, against all odds, Ringo burst in laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank God!” he let out between two laughs, which sounded nervous and relieved altogether. “I couldn’t have stood it any longer.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What!?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo sighed deeply and turned to George with a wide smile, blush spreading slightly across his cheeks and nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just didn’t know how to deal with… all that. This stuff we do, I’m not used to it and, well… turns out I’m better at charming birds than lads, apparently. I’m sorry, George. You should’ve told me that upsetted you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t upset”, George mumbled, rather ashamed of himself now. “It’s just… a bit cheesy, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, like you ain’t cheesy with the girls you’re fond of, mate”, Ringo cringed happily, poking him on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… you’re fond of me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George didn’t feel his eyelids itching as much and was now almost fully awake. Ringo’s hand twitched, and gripped George’s sleeve softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… yeah, I am, though I’m really bad at showing it right”, he chuckled. “I like the way we… the way we are these days, if that’s what you’re asking. Even if it feels weird. It also feels right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George’s whole chest seemed to tighten in the most pleasing way. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s bloody cheesy there”, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kissed Ringo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I still call you marshmallow pie, though?” Ringo kidded, ruffling George’s hair. “I quite liked that one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Twinkle, little Starr, you can dream about that”, George snorted, grinning. “There’s no way I’ll let you call me like this unless I’m under death threat </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> you swear you’ll only do it once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo closed his eyes briefly before looking at him innocently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could call me that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Call you what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ringo was biting his lips, holding back a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Little star. D’you think you could call me ‘little star’?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George looked at him, amused, bemused and uneasy at the same time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’ know”, Ringo said with a shrug, “there’s already a ‘Little Richard’. So why not a ‘Little Starr’?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George did nothing but smile and shake his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How cheesy.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although he did find stars rather pleasant to look at. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(As usual, tell me if I made mistakes!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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